That was just exactly what it meant. The porter,
his eyes rolling, told them all about it. The
train had stood just here, “in the middle of
a snow-bank,” since midnight. It was still
snowing. And the train was covered in completely
with the soft and clinging mantle.

At first the two chums bound for Tillbury were only
excited and pleased by the novel situation. The
porter arranged their seats for them and Bess proudly
produced the box of lunch she had bought at Freeling,
and of which they had eaten very little.

“Tell me how smart I am, Nan Sherwood!”
she cried. “Wish we had a cup of coffee
apiece.”

At that very moment the porter and conductor entered
the car with a steaming can of the very comforting
fluid Bess had just mentioned. The porter distributed
waxed paper cups from the water cooler for each passenger’s
use and the conductor judiciously poured the cups half
full of coffee.

“You two girls are very lucky,” he said,
when he saw what was in the lunch-box. “Take
care of your food supply. No knowing when we’ll
get out of this drift.”

“Why, mercy!” ejaculated Bess. “I
don’t know that I care to live for long on stale
sandwiches and pie, washed down by the most miserable
coffee I ever tasted.”

“Well, I suppose it’s better to live on
this sort of food than to die on no food at all,”
Nan said, laughing.

It seemed to be all a joke at first. There were
only a few people in the Pullman, and everybody was
cheerful and inclined to take the matter pleasantly.
Being snow-bound in a train was such a novel experience
that no unhappy phase of the situation deeply impressed
any of the passengers’ minds.

Breakfast was meagre, it was true. The “candy
butcher,” who sold popcorn and sandwiches as
well, was bought out at an exorbitant price by two
traveling men, who distributed what they had secured
with liberal hand. Bess, more cautious than usual,
hid the remains of her lunch and told Nan that it
was “buried treasure.”